Gods and Their Strange Origins
by Super Swung Dash
Summary: Creating a super being is a complicated process. Warden origin story of sorts?


Picture, if you will, a king.

Picture him sitting upon his throne with pride, leaning back a bit and observing all he reigns supreme over with a wide grin on his face. Picture his land: a sprawling, green thing, fields extending out for miles, littered with fruit, vegetables and flora, and picture the body of water that surrounds it on all sides, embracing it almost with pure, liquid blue arms. Really visualize the towering volcanoes in his land, get a feel for the wide, expansive blue sky, and then, allow yourself to know what this king knows: that all of this is his to take in and observe and play with.

And, after that, though you may be writhing and twitching with envy by now (because why wouldn't you be?), make him a god. Do away with all the laws of gravity and physics, do away with the constricting, ridiculous, fluid concept called 'reality' entirely, and give him the power to make the mountains crumble, crack and move out of his way if he desires. Bestow upon him the power to make the seas rise or fall with his whims and fanciful, frantic, frenetic wishes, and grant him the ability to not only warp and twist the things around him, but to shape his own image however he pleases. Let him play around with that nifty capability of his for awhile, if he wants to, and watch him not only create duplicates of himself for his own amusement, but grow and shrink whenever he'd like to, because it's one of the most _awesome abilities_ a person can have.

Give him free reign in this world, and allow him to make adjustments when necessary, because he's a visionary, and visionaries can't switch their brains off _just because _they've been handed what appears to be a paradise. In fact, see _to it _that he manages and creates this paradise that he sits in all by himself, because he's one of those types that needs to be constantly in control of things, and it'd be much more fun for him to create this world on his own, anyway.

Watch his whole childhood unfurl before your eyes like an almost horrifying flag, and shovel popcorn into your mouth as he's practically conditioned to not only believe in justice, but embrace it with every bit of his soul. Relax and recline as his unusually observant and wild gaze leads him to turn counter-clockwise on the justice system that he becomes so fascinated with, and watch as he begins to find flaws in it, horrible and glaring flaws that he's surprised his father hasn't even noticed. Observe him, a little boy, sitting there on the floor and building what look almost like plans for his own little jail, with nothing but simple wooden blocks. Watch him scrutinize, improvise, supervise.

_Too small,_ his juvenile brain sings as he steps back and looks at his father's prison from a distance, noting that it couldn't possibly hold as many inmates as any jail ought to... ...and so his little jail expands.

_Too wide,_ crows his special thought-voice as he pays careful and close attention to the spacing of the metallic bars lining the doors of the cells in his father's prison, _and anyway, I bet I could bend those~! _...and so the imaginary metallic bars keeping the inmates in his own little jail vanish with the blink of an eye, and they're replaced by huge, intimidating doors with little latches to look out of.

_Too boring!!_ he screams to the heavens as he looks at the whole of his father's prison, so dull and drab and grey and blackened over. It's as if whoever designed it and built it and supervised it had no imagination whatsoever, and the only colours they saw in were monochrome and not really colours at all, but shades. There aren't many pleasing visuals outside of his father's prison, either, just empty roads leading down empty streets, not any interesting plants or creatures or colours at all. No wonder his father was such a grouch all of the time, when he had to work in conditions like that.

...and so the outside of his personal little jail becomes as furnished, colourful and exciting as the inside, and invisible flora and fauna begin sprouting up all over the place, and tiny towers and buildings with their own special purposes, unique and fun to look at, pop up everywhere. Maybe, in his mind's eye, there are even little mechanisms hooked up all over the jail, things to thrill and entertain him and transfer prisoners from one place to the next, like rides, and maybe, just so he has something interesting to look at in his wondrous, colourful office, there will be things always moving outside the jail, always flashing, always something in motion. Nothing stale and stuck like the things outside and inside his father's prison.

And, just when it seems that he's created the best, most super jail any one child could create, and when it seems like he's finished... ...he begins to pay attention to the security in his father's prison, observing every single one of the security guards and every single member of the staff with a critical eye whenever he visits. They don't seem to take him all that seriously, and they just smile their usual wary smiles at him, as most adults tend to do, and they direct him to chairs and have him sit and wait for his father. But they don't realize that the gears in his head are constantly turning, even as he smiles and waves and waits and kicks his feet up and down with anticipation, and they don't realize just how closely he's watching them. Most people don't, he's found, especially when you're cheerful and smiling like he is. It's funny to him, because although people tend to notice that you're happy or smiling, they never tend to notice _why..._

Not that he hasn't tried to tell them why. They just didn't listen when he tried, because they didn't understand. They wouldn't, not yet, but--

--but here he is now, regardless, focusing in on every single member of his father's staff that passes him. He kicks his feet up and down restlessly for what seems like days, weeks, months, an eternity, and notices every single one of the guards' nervous tics and even some notable vulnerabilities of theirs in that time frame. They aren't as vigilant as they should be, not as devoted; they clearly aren't prepared for the worst at all, and they probably wouldn't know what the worst was even if it threatened to lop their silly heads off. And none of them know how to have any fun, either (he had tried to play several games with his father's employees before, with limited success--Tag just made them jumpy, and games of Hide and Go Peek just made them worry that they'd lost the little urchin. Didn't they know that was the whole purpose of the game?). They just let him sit there, all fidgety and alone, while they do their work. They've proven themselves to be far too susceptible to wounds, also, and since they were dealing with the creatures his father darkly referred to as 'inmates' all of the time, who crept up behind you when you least suspected it and stabbed you with pokey things and made a complete mockery of justice, that couldn't ever do.

Besides, they're all so boring, and they all look so similar that the little boy can't even really tell them apart.

...and so his little mind begins to bubble and brew and steep as he scrutinizes them all, and before you can say 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious', he's come up with the grandest, most creative form of security and jail management the world has ever seen--or rather, not yet seen. He knows that it will fly before he knows anything else about it, because everything _super _flies, and he begins building it with his building blocks from there, deciding that it would keep watch over the jail and be his friend. It would have more life in it than any of his father's silly employees could ever have, and it would do more than just try to keep him still and keep him quiet. By the time he's finished with it, he's begun to refer to it almost affectionately as his 'Little Flying Man', and he delights in flying it around the entirety of his little jail, giggling with an innocent glee and providing sound effects when necessary.

This is where you come in, Whoever You Are, so as to ensure that his dreams are made and not shattered. You creep in undetected, stealthy, unseen, nothing but unidentifiable background noise, and watch as the child plays with his 'Little Flying Man' for a moment before his father comes bursting in, screaming about something or other as usual, and you know that somehow, in this exact moment, you have to change the course of the young boy's life forever. He must build his paradise, after all--it's his destiny, and you know it. And as his father shouts at his accountant and then at the young boy, and seizes the 'Little Flying Man' and hurls it at him, causing the boy to cry out...

...you know what you have to do, don't you, Whoever You Are? It's all too apparent, now.

The father has to die. It's the only way that this young man's life can flip itself upside down, so that he may be given the means and the power to create his prison, his paradise. Otherwise, things will just keep carrying on in the same way, and his life will take the same dull course that so many lives before his have taken, and nothing very good will be accomplished at all! So you'll prod at the large, blustery man with your invisible, ominous finger until his foot finds itself tripping over the boy's little jail. You'll watch as he finds himself tumbling out of a rather large window, gape at the way his body seems to plummet and embrace his death so eagerly.

You'll do all this, because you have to. Oh, yes, it may startle the young boy at first and he may shed a few crocodile tears here and there in the beginning, but ultimately, he'll be declared the youngest warden in the free world!! The death of his irritable, outspoken father is a small price to pay for a place of his own, a position of power and a place that exists for him and for justice, and nothing else.

He'll soon discover that his father and his associates aren't the only ones in the world who don't understand why he's always buzzing with excitement, and that in fact the majority of the people around him seem to shudder at the sight of every grin that finds its way upon his face and make a face whenever he tries to bring the subject of torture up with them. They don't think that a 'Little Flying Man' can be built, and they don't think that rides would be very practical things to construct around a jail, not even a super one. They think that the methods of torture he's come up with are too morbid for a little boy, too frightening in the hands of a teenager, too inhumane in the hands of an adult.

The only thing to do now is go outside, and once he's done that, everything seems to click into place. None of the skeptics and the critics matter, in the end--he's from Mars, they're from Venus, and when push comes to shove they'll feel sorry in the end, anyway. They'll feel sorry when his methods become standardized, when his name finds itself waltzing and bouncing onto the page of every history book and textbook, and this thought, banging and clashing like cymbals, provides a beat for him to march to, a reason to continue onward even when it seems as if nothing will ever get done.

It seems as though everything is perfect, that his jail will be built and that his destiny, however kooky it may seem to the average Joe, will be fulfilled. What you get to do now, just as a treat, is take the whole of him and shake it like dice in the palm of your hands, rattle his brain around a bit in his skull to make sure that though his life is utterly divine, he won't be able to spend very much of it lucid. You're envious, so of course you think it wouldn't be fair for him to live a life like his completely and entirely sane.

Sanity does not bode well with his situation, regardless, so hype him up on bad Kool-Aid and LSD, while you're at it.

Giving him some dazzling new threads might not hurt, too: the kind he's always wanted, the kind he just kind of wakes up in one day, purple from head to toe and so stylin' he almost can't control himself. Top hats would be a nice touch, since they're always the very epitome of style, and once you've ensured that they're violet, they're almost sure to be a permanent fixture in his appearance, a little quirk of his. A magical, fantastical cane would be nice, too. It's just so convenient, and it makes sure that the whole ensemble ties together very nicely.

All that's left to do is hand the guy a Rubix cube.

...

Now, sit back and relax once all this is done, because you've just created the most super being on planet Earth.

_Fantastic job!!_


End file.
